


Scenes from something which is certainly not a friendship

by Vaznetti



Category: Classical Greece and Rome History & Literature RPF
Genre: Female Friendship, Misses Clause Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 01:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaznetti/pseuds/Vaznetti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clodia and Terentia, through the 40s.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scenes from something which is certainly not a friendship

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Selena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selena/gifts).



49 BC

 

There was a woman getting out of a litter as Terentia came out of the House of the Vestals. She stopped to admire the production: a hand brushing aside the thin blue curtains, then a foot in a delicate sandal. Before the other foot could follow, one of the bearers had placed a step below it and another was tying back the curtains. The woman laid a hand on her slave's shoulder to help herself up, and pulled a thin veil -- slightly darker than the curtains -- over her neatly-rolled hair.

She frowned when she saw Terentia standing in the doorway. "Still in the city? I thought you'd have run off to that little town of yours ages ago."

"My sister Fabia is ill," Terentia said. "What brings you to the House of the Vestals, Clodia? Surely not piety."

"Why not?" Clodia answered. "I thought the Vestals might wish for some support in the days to come." Her long mouth curved upwards. "As matrons, we must all be concerned for the future of Rome."

"I doubt it," Terentia said, adjusting her stola over her shoulders and head. She stepped down to the street.

"Won't Tullia be waiting for dear Dolabella to return?" Clodia asked.

"She'd like to, of course," Terentia said. "But then, Cicero wants Marcus to put on the toga virilis at home. I'm sure you know what it is to be town between duty to your husband, and to your father and brother." It was the best she could do, Terentia thought as she walked away from the temple. She wished she could have barred Clodia from the Vestals -- it would have served her right, the bitch. At least they would be away from Rome in the next few days. She put Clodia out of her mind, and went on to the Temple of Castor.

*

Like so many of Cicero's plans, it did not go entirely right; Fabia remained too ill for Terentia to be confident in leaving her for long, and Tullia really did want to stay in Rome until Dolabella returned, so they were still in the city when Caesar came. The people closed their doors and waited, but he stopped, with all his troops, and camped outside the pomerium. The senators who still remained, a sorry bunch in Terentia's eyes, went out to meet him. The women of Rome went as well, making, as usual, a somewhat better show.

She and Tullia arrived with Dolabella, and Terentia was pleased at least by the attention Caesar showed, having them brought up to him as soon as they arrived. He asked after Quintus, and showed real amusement when Tullia thanked him for returning Dolabella so efficiently to her. "Anything to please Marcus Tullius' daughter," he said. And to Terentia, separately, "I hope to see Cicero soon, and ask him for his support."

 _Good luck with that,_ Terentia thought. "I'm sure he will be as happy as we all are to see you again, after so long." 

Dolabella took Tullia off after that to a group of his own friends, Caelius and Curio and a few other young men, and Terentia drifted off to the side of the room to observe. She was composing her letter to Marcus (how awkward Junia looked as she followed her mother in) when Clodia came to stand next to her. "Surely not a comfortable gathering for Cicero's wife?" she asked.

"But very easy, for Dolabella's mother-in-law. And it can't be entirely pleasant for you, can it?" She looked over to Tullia, who was laughing at a joke Caelius had made.

"If I worried about seeing all my old lovers, I would never be able to go anywhere," Clodia said. "I suppose you're right, though. Most of the women here have family in both camps. Look, Servilia has even made her niece come. Doesn't she look sour?"

"You'd look sour too, if you were married to Bibulus."

Clodia smiled. "I do notice that Caesar has kept well away from them."

Terentia couldn't resist. "Like you, he can't expect to avoid all his old lovers: there's Postumia heading right for him. Calpurnia doesn't have a chance."

She was surprised when Clodia laughed aloud. "So Caesar and I have more in common than politics." 

Terentia supposed that there was some benefit in public life to a complete lack of shame, and considered suggesting so to Clodia. Instead she asked, "Did you ever?"

"No," Clodia said. "You?"

"Me!" Terentia said in shock. "Certainly not!"

"You'd hardly be the first of his friends' wives." 

"I don't think Cicero and Caesar are quite such close friends as that," Terentia said. Clodia laughed again, and she was surprised to find herself smiling as well. She rarely had the opportunity to speak her mind, but there was no need to worry about offending a woman like Clodia, who was neither a friend nor an ally. And who was, she forced herself to admit, better company than the women she was often stuck with at such events.

"Stay with me," Clodia said. "You're much more entertaining than anyone else in this crowd, and if I stay with you I can avoid Fulvia, who will simply pontificate all night on how she would have run the campaign."

"How strange," Terentia said. "I was just thinking the same of you."

Clodia raised one delicate eyebrow. "That I was going to drone on all night about military affairs?"

"That you are better company than my sister-in-law," Terentia said. They both laughed, and she was pleased to see confusion on the faces of the people standing around them.

 

45 BC

To Terentia, from Clodia.

If you are well, I am well. Although I am sure that you are not well, after the loss of such a good and loving daughter. I meant everything I said about that in my earlier letter, to which you did not reply; I understood that you might not, especially after that unpleasantness with Metella, and Tullia's divorce. 

I am writing now because Atticus has been to see me. I expect that he has been to see you as well, in his concern for Cicero. In my case, he was on a mission from your former husband -- since no one would suspect I would care whether Cicero were happy or not! You remember that bit of garden land I own, by the Tiber; it seems that Cicero wants to buy it and build a little shrine to your Tullia there. I used to be quite fond of the place, but I rarely visit there now, and Cicero is prepared to offer me a good price. I thought, though, that I would ask you first what you thought about it -- if you would like me to sell the land, then I will, but if you would prefer not, then I will tell Atticus I cannot. Atticus showed me the plans, and it would all be in very good taste.

I find that I rather miss our meetings, now that you have left Rome. Fulvia has become completely insufferable since her marriage to Mark Antony; I believe she thinks she ought to be allowed to go on campaign with him, and frankly I wish she would.

Farewell.

*

To Clodia, from Terentia,

I should thank you for both of your letters; I didn't respond to the first because I had nothing to say. I sometimes feel that this new Rome has no place for old-fashioned women like me. Anyway, there was no need for you to apologise on behalf of Metella. 

It is kind of you to ask me about the land Cicero wants to buy from you. The shrine might help him be healed, and so, although he and I did not part very happily, I think you should sell it if you are minded to. And of course if you need the money; in times like these is can be good to have some cash on hand, or invested outside Rome. I am planning to make some investments in Athens and Rhodes which will help support Marcus while he is studying there. Atticus is expediting it all, as you would expect. 

I think that it is time for me to come back to Rome; the situation seems settled, if not really stable. In fact I am sending this letter with the slaves I have instructed to prepare my townhouse.

Farewell.

 

43 BC

 

The house on the Esquiline was much like its owner, Clodia thought: austere, respectable, old-fashioned. Probably quite rich, although you would never know it from the exterior. Safer, of course, in times like these, when everyone knew men who had been killed for their houses and gardens.

The door was shut, and when she sent a slave up to knock on she saw it open briefly and then close again. He came back to the litter to say, "Their mistress isn't at home, domina."

"Don't be stupid," she said. "She's in there." She got out of the litter herself and walked up to the door. "Go tell your mistress that Clodia is here to see her, and that I'm not going to leave until she comes out." She heard footsteps moving away inside the house. She couldn't hear what was going on within, but she could sense eyes on her from the other houses on the street. She straightened her back and adjusted the folds of her dress; blue, as she preferred, with some very nice embroidery in silver at the sides and hem. She, at least, had nothing to be ashamed of. And however sharp the December air, she would not turn away to call for the cloak she had left in the litter.

Terentia came to the door quickly, at least. "What do you want?"

"I've come to take you to the Forum," Clodia said.

"Is he there?" she asked.

Clodia nodded. "On the rostra. I can take you in my litter. It should be perfectly safe."

"I wasn't worried about my safety," Terentia said.

"Then you're the only person in Rome who isn't."

"Aside from the triumvirs."

"Oh, they're worried as well. Why do you think there are so many names on their lists?" It was, Clodia thought, probably not the kind of conversation anyone should be having on the doorstep, not even a woman as closely connected to the triumvirs as she was. Terentia's lips twisted slightly, as if she could read Clodia's thoughts and had judged her a coward. "You don't need to come with me, of course."

"I'll come." Terentia gestured, and a girl came forward to drape her stola over her head and shoulders. Both that and her dress were plain white wool, spotlessly clean. She probably spun it herself, Clodia thought, or at least wanted the neighbors to think so. She wrapped a dark cloak around her and walked out to Clodia's litter, her head high.

They road though the muffled streets. Men gathered in corners and at cookshops, but they spoke in low voices now; mothers kept their children close. Rome was surrounded by legions prepared to march east against Brutus and Cassius, but in the meantime there was no guarantee that they would not be turned against the city. Her brother, Clodia thought, had hoped to organise the people to defend themselves, but they were no match for the soldiers. Terentia was silent all the way, lost in her own thoughts; of her son Marcus, she supposed, in Asia with Caesar's murderers. She looked older than she had when they had last met; her dark hair was streaked with gray now, and there were deeper lines around her mouth. 

The Forum was quiet as well. Smoke drifted from the altars by the Regia as they passed it, and small groups of men were clustered around the tabernae. Clodia signalled for her slaves to stop when they reached the stone which marked Romulus' grave, and the two women climbed out. Terentia adjusted her stola, and this time Clodia took her cloak, a darker blue than her dress, but with matching embroidery.

She followed Terentia to the speaker's platform. No one gave speeches there now: Cicero's wasn't the only head staring out from it. His hands were lying next to it. It was difficult to recognise the face she knew in the mottled, swollen flesh; his jaw had fallen open, and his tongue was hanging out, and the birds had got to his eyes and picked at the flesh on his head. Someone had stuck hair-pins in his tongue.

Clodia became aware of a growing silence around them, as the people in the Forum watched Terentia standing in front of her husband's head. She had taken off her cloak and her dress shone like the chalk-white toga of a candidate for election. People were beginning to walk over to see what was going on, whispering to each other. Someone bent down to pick some dirt up from the ground to throw, but the men behind him wrestled him away, and women from the market pushed him to the back of the crowd. 

Everyone went quiet as Terentia pulled off her stola and walked forward to the rostra itself. Her hair was pulled back into a neat roll of brown and silver threads. She reached up and pulled the pins from Cicero's tongue, then took his head and cradled it in one arm. She reached up again for his hands, and then wrapped them all in her stola. She turned around to face the crowd, and Clodia saw that the front of her dress was now streaked with old brown blood. 

Terentia walked straight past Clodia as if she didn't see her and back through the forum; Clodia had to hurry to catch up. "Let me take you home," she said.

"Thank you," Terentia said, "but I don't think that would be appropriate."

There was a murmur of approval from the crowd as Terentia continued through the forum. "Don't worry, domina," said one of the men in the crowd as he walked past Clodia and her litter. "Quintus Cicero was our legate back in Gaul. We won't let anyone bother her." And so Clodia watched as the crowd in the forum accompanied Terentia back to her house, just as they had so often followed the husband whose head and hands she carried in her arms.

Clodia went back to the rostra and picked up the pins; she could return them to Fulvia later.

 

40 BC

Terentia felt strongly that nothing good could come of answering the door when someone was pounding on it late at night, and had instructed her doorkeeper so. So she was surprised to be roused in the dark and told that there were unexpected guests in the atrium. "Two women and a little boy," Ulpius told her, "and they weren't knocking. They were scratching at it, all quietly."

She wasn't surprised, by the time she got down the stairs, to find that one of the woman was Clodia, although she wasn't sure she knew the girl with her. She looked familiar, but Terentia kept to her house these days. "What is it?" she asked.

"This is my cousin," Clodia said. "Drusus Claudianus' daughter. Livia, do you know Terentia, Cicero's wife?"

"We have met once or twice," the girl said. She shifted the little boy sleeping on her shoulder. "My husband is Tiberius Nero. He has -- he had the greatest respect for Cicero."

"Yes, of course," Terentia said. "Is he dead?" she asked suddenly. "I had heard that he was in Neapolis."

"No, he's alive," Clodia said quickly. "He's on his way to Sicily, to join Sextus Pompeius. And Livia wants to travel to him."

"Of course," Terentia said again. "All the upright young women are doing it."

Livia flushed. "I cannot stay in Rome now. You've heard about what Caesar did at Perusia."

"I heard," Terentia said. They said that he'd sacrificed three hundred of the leading citizens of the rebellious town on altars to the deified Julius. "Although I don't see why you expect me to help one of Fulvia's supporters."

"Precisely because no one would expect it," Clodia said. "Who would think that Livia would come to me, when young Caesar is married to my niece? And who would imagine that I would bring her to you?"

"You'll be heading to an island under siege," Terentia said bluntly. "You won't be any safer there than in Rome."

Livia straightened. "If my husband is in danger, it is my duty and my privilege to undergo that danger by his side."

"You're still a girl," Terentia said. "You'll realise sooner or later that husbands have little to do with the business of being a Roman matron. You have a duty to the city as well." She heard Clodia stifle a laugh as a cough, and frowned at her. 

"The city is with the citizens," Livia said.

"And in the altars to the gods here in Rome, and in the hearths of houses like this one, and like your own." Terentia smiled at herself as she said it; how Cicero had complained to her about Pompey's decision to abandon Rome, and in nearly the same words. And look how well that had ended. Her smile faded. "Men come and go. Men think they rule the city, but we're the ones who keep it alive. Think carefully before you decide to leave it."

"Can you help me, or not?" Livia asked. "Your son Marcus is there. Do you have some means of getting messages to him?"

"I might," Terentia said. She sighed. "If you're determined, then you and your son can stay here tonight. You'll leave tomorrow at dawn." She turned back to Clodia. "You should go home before anyone sees you. I assume that litter of yours is not actually sitting outside my door right now."

"I'm not quite that addicted to my comforts," Clodia said.

"I'll send a man with you, then, to get you back to the Palatine." She went to call Ulpius into the atrium; he had been lurking just behind the tablinum, as she supected.

Clodia's face lit up when she saw him. "I knew I remembered you. The legionary from the Forum. Well," she said to Terentia, "aren't you sly?"

"Hard though it may be for you to imagine, I don't sleep with every man who visits my house," Terentia said. "Manlius Ulpius was a centurion who served under Quintus in the invasion of Britain. He'll see you home safely, and then come back here to see Livia on her way south."

"Very well," Clodia said. "If that's what you'd prefer people to think..."

"It's the truth," Terentia said. She walked Clodia back to the door. Behind them, the little boy had woken up, and Livia was soothing him back to sleep. "Why did you decide to help her? You can hardly know her very well." 

"I know her a little," Clodia said. "And I like her a little as well. She reminds me of a very dear friend of mine."

"Heu," Terentia said. "You'll have to do a better job picking your friends, then."

End.


End file.
